The Girl, the Goddess, and the Spell
A poem by Julia R. DeStefano
The Girl, the Goddess, and the Spell
After a while, my mother told my father it was time.
Time to make her his.
I like to pretend she said, “Now stop that jivin’!”
But that’s a me thing in my dry wit, not her.
Still, I always admired that fortitude.
We’re different in so many ways, similar in this.
But sometimes, when the newly-chilled breeze
licks my bare skin
and the moon counters it with her warming glow,
I think on how girls want attention
when goddesses require awareness.
And I wonder which one am I
in my feminine urge to be sought after and found.
To breathlessly say his name
like an incantation over and over.
Writing poetry with my tongue
and later, my pen.
Welcoming in the most sensual of Septembers
or certainly, the most communicative.
I know I am the girl, the goddess, and the spell.
That whirl into flame heralding a new dawn.
Bursting with art that may not be simple
but desires that are.
And if I don’t ask him to be mine,
I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.
So it’s a good thing that I already have.
My words magic like me.
Because we’ve mastered survival mode
and one way streets.
Earned first-place in the art of patience and restraint.
Now I think it’s time to live.
Win in other ways.
Like mother like daughter, after all.
© Julia R. DeStefano
